


Eve of Battle

by RosesHaveThorns



Series: Fate of the Heart [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Angst and Smut, Bannhammer, Cunnilingus, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Sexual Invitation, Shameless Smut, Smut, The Author Regrets Nothing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosesHaveThorns/pseuds/RosesHaveThorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teagan offers the Warden comfort on the eve of battle, and she finds out why he's known as The Bannhammer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eve of Battle

**Author's Note:**

> Angst and smut, pretty much. This is something of a preface to a longer story, though that story is about the Warden-Commander's relationship with Nathaniel Howe. This story is just a sort of in-betweener tale of smut and regret (I may, eventually, add to this to flesh out her fling with Bann Teagan. We'll see.) 
> 
> This is the updated version of this story. The elements are the same as the original, but it was tweaked a little to better fit the ongoing story. 
> 
> The longer story is here: [http://archiveofourown.org/works/7865188/chapters/17960932](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7865188/chapters/17960932%22)

Rowan Cousland sat on the edge of the big bed in her room at Redcliffe Castle and stared into the flames dancing in the hearth. She'd just sent Morrigan away, after turning down the witch's rather outrageous request. Rowan was not about to try to persuade Loghain to bed Morrigan in some bizarre dark ritual to produce a baby with the soul of an Old God, whatever that was supposed to even mean. And furthermore, Rowan didn't really care if she or Riordan or Loghain died fighting the archdemon, so long as the thing was killed. The argument that she should agree to this ritual because someone would have to die was entirely unpersuasive. Even more unpersuasive was Morrigan's argument that if Loghain killed the archedmon, he would be heralded as a hero and overshadow Rowan. Morrigan was supposed to be Rowan's friend. How shallow did she think Rowan to be? Was the whole friendship thing just an act? Morrigan had certainly had ulterior motives throughout it all, so perhaps the friendship was a pretence, as well.

Rowan was actually expecting to die. Hoping to die, even. At least then it would be over. She felt the loss of Alistair keenly, deeply. It was a wound so profound that she feared it might never heal. She understood that he hated Loghain, but Riordan's advice had been sound, especially in light of what he'd divulged this night. They did need more Grey Wardens, and now that she knew the whole story, that the Grey Warden who killed the archdemon would die, Rowan understood better Riordan's speech at the Landsmeet and why he said what he did. There were, indeed, compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible. Anora, too, had been correct, in that Loghain might not have survived the Joining, anyway. It had been a sound tactical and political decision to spare his life and conscript him into the Grey Wardens, but Alistair... the hurt in his voice, in his eyes... Rowan felt sick thinking about it. She had tried to persuade him, to make him see reason, but when he'd announced that he would no longer stand with the Grey Wardens, or with her, Rowan had been gutted.

Since then, she had locked away her pain and her anger and fear and guilt and shame and so many other emotions, because if she didn't, she would drown in her despair and the Blight would go on unabated. _We must press forward; always, we must press forward._ That's what Duncan had told her at her Joining, and so she did just that, though it came with a heavy personal toll. Sacrifice and duty was the Grey Warden way.

Unfortunately, that was not something Alistair seemed to grasp. To the Void with him for deserting her and putting her in this position! Had he ever really understood the core tenet of the Grey Wardens? Had he ever really understood the nature of putting your own desire and your own views and your own preferences aside and doing what had to be done? What would Duncan think of Alistair's actions? Rowan didn't know Duncan very well, but she had to think Duncan would not have been impressed by Alistair's refusal to follow through on his duty as a Grey Warden. Rowan certainly wasn't.

She lowered her head and thought about the forced march ahead and how she should be sleeping, but she couldn't. She was too hurt, too tense, and too worried about what would happen to Ferelden if the three Grey Wardens on hand were all killed before the archdemon could be slain.

“Maker, help us all,” she said aloud, even though she had grave reservations about the Maker helping anyone. If you really wanted to consider the Chantry's teachings, the Maker was the source of the Blights to begin with, having cast darkspawn back into the world as a plague, so why would anyone expect the Maker to want to help end them? That thought was probably blasphemy, but she didn't care in the least. Let the Maker strike her down if He disapproved.

With a sigh, she stood up and headed toward the stairs. Perhaps she could find some alcohol to help her sleep, or maybe a cup of some kind of herbal concoction to ease her nerves enough to let her doze off.

Rowan knew the general direction of the kitchens, and she knew where the main hall was, as well as the Arl's study. Now that she considered it, she seemed to recall having seen a collection of bottles in the study, probably for entertaining, so that seemed the most likely place to start. Better than rummaging around in an unfamiliar kitchen, anyway, and risk frightening or angering the staff.

When she stepped into Arl Eamon's study, Rowan was startled to find Bann Teagan there.

“Oh, pardon me, my lord. I'm sorry to intrude. I'll go.”

“No, no,” he said, almost emphatically. “Please. Stay, if you don't mind my company. I can't sleep, so I came here to avail myself of my brother's liquor cabinet. Did you have the same idea, by any chance?”

She smiled tiredly. “In fact, my lord, I did.”

“Sit down, then, my lady. What's your pleasure?”

She raised an eyebrow. He was a flirt and a charmer, with a reputation as a ladies' man and more. She wondered if he was actually flirting with her or just offering her a drink. Or, perhaps, both.

“What's on offer?” she asked, and it was his turn to raise an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curving up slightly. Yes, all right. He was flirting with her.

“How about Antivan almond liqueur? Pleasantly smooth, warm, sweet, packs a bit of a punch, but doesn't knock you flat like a stronger drink.”

She smiled and nodded, and sat down on the couch in front of the fire while he poured her drink. He handed her the cup and then sat on the couch with her, though not too close.

“I was hoping I'd be able to speak with you,” he said, stretching his arm over the back of the couch, but not touching her in any way, a position that invited her to move closer, but only if she wanted it. “May I call you Rowan? You know, of course, that was my sister's name.”

“You may, and yes, of course I know. And you must know that I was named after your sister, the Queen, King Maric's wife. I understand my father intended to call me Maric if I'd been a boy. You said you wanted to talk to me, my lord, did you have something specific in mind?”

“Yes, I wanted to speak to you about what happened at the Landsmeet.”

She groaned and stared at the amber brown liquid in the cup she held. “What about it? Are you and Eamon angry with me for what happened? I... tried to make Alistair see reason, but, well, you saw what happened. I never expected him to...”

“I did see,” Teagan said softly, kindly. “No one is angry with you. Alistair has a history of... Let's just say that his actions were not entirely out of character, though I would have thought the Chantry education and the templar training would have instilled better discipline, and a better grip on his temper. Apparently not. At least you were able to save him from execution. Exile is bad enough, but at least this way, we may be able to find him, and one day, persuade Anora to allow him to return.”

Rowan nodded. “Regardless, I am very sorry about it. And more than a little angry, to be perfectly honest.”

“I can't blame you. And I would also imagine that you're disappointed, hurt, and probably more than a little worried.”

“Yes,” she said, very quietly, her voice breaking slightly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Probably not to most people. You hide it well,” Teagan said gently. “But I saw you and Alistair together and I had the distinct impression that you two were romantically and intimately involved. I would even have said you were in love with each other. I was surprised that he would abandon the Grey Wardens when he'd worked so long and hard to bring together an army to fight the archdemon and the Blight, but I was truly shocked that he would leave you.”

She laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that had nothing to do with amusement. “You are not the only person to say something like that to me.” All of her companions had voiced similar thoughts, in their own unique ways.

“Alistair is a _fool_ ,” Teagan said, pronouncing each word with great deliberation and emotion.

“So I have been told.” Rowan sighed, took another sip of her drink. “But who is more the fool? The fool, or the fool who loves him?”

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Teagan said, “Might I help? Comfort you... in any way?”

Rowan cocked an eyebrow. “My lord?”

“I will speak frankly, and trust you to forgive me if I am too bold, but you have never struck me as a woman who is easily offended. It is the eve of a battle in which we both may die, and in which many go to certain death. Neither of us can sleep. You have a great burden, and have been dealt a painful blow that you should not have had to bear. I believe that you might benefit from some... intimate companionship. No strings attached, no judgements, no catch. There are worse ways to take comfort on the eve of battle, wouldn't you say?”

She turned and looked at him. The firelight played on his prominent cheekbones and strong, hawklike nose. He was not conventionally handsome, but he was exceptionally attractive, and he was so very charming and appeared to be genuinely caring. Rowan had liked him from the moment they met in the Chantry at Redcliffe, though they had probably met before when she was a child and she just didn't have much recall of it. It was a little strange that her parents, with their endless matchmaking, had never tried to encourage a match between her and Teagan. He was, after all, a highly respected lord and still unmarried. He was also quite a few years her senior, however, and his reputation as a cocksman may have put them off.

Rowan looked at the amber brown liquid in her glass and swirled it a little as she chewed her lower lip. Teagan was perceptive, and he was correct, she was most definitely hurting. She was acutely lonely, ridden with guilt, more than a little frightened as to what would happen if they failed to bring down the archdemon, and she was facing her own death. Then add the anger and frustration and heartbreak of what happened with Alistair, and the loss of her entire family and home before that, and it combined to create a cocktail far more painful than darkspawn blood mixed with lyrium and whatever else they put in that chalice of poison she'd swallowed to become a Grey Warden.

Rowan had been with exactly two men, and she'd loved them both. She wasn't a woman who cared much for the idea of casual affairs and random encounters, but given the circumstances, she considered that maybe it wasn't such a bad suggestion. Perhaps Teagan was right. Perhaps some intimate companionship would do her some good, and it certainly couldn't do her any harm. And if she was honest with herself, Rowan was more than a little bit intrigued with his reputation as a lover.

“You are correct that I'm not easily offended. I think the idea has merit, my lord,” she said finally.

A slow smile curved his lips. “Then I shall be even bolder and suggest that we retire to your room, where I shall endeavour to comfort you as... thoroughly as I am able. Truly, it would be my honour, as well as my pleasure.”

She smiled at him. So charming. Rowan swallowed the last of her drink and set down the glass and then smiled at him as he got to his feet and offered her his hand.

In her room, they shut the door and Teagan slid the bolt into place. Rowan wasted no time and was pulling off her boots by the time he turned around. She stood up, facing him, her back the the fire, and lifted her tunic over her head, dropping it to the floor. Teagan watched her as if mesmerised. She unlaced her breeches and wriggled out of them, and then stood there in her small clothes and put her hand on one hip.

“My lord,” she said quietly, “you are entirely overdressed for this party. Shall I help you?”

“If that would please you, but I'm fairly experienced with getting out of my own clothes,” he said with a little grin. She smirked at him and pulled off the band of cloth that bound her breasts, hearing him gasp as her breasts fell free. She slid her underpants down and stepped out of them, pulled back the covers and got in bed, leaving the sheets around her feet.

Teagan, by this time, was making his way to the bed, completely naked, fully aroused, and looking very much like a man on a mission. Rowan took in the sight appreciatively. He was fighting fit and well built, with a patch of auburn hair in the middle of his chest.

“You are so very beautiful,” he said as he slid across the sheet to take her in his arms. “I was sincere when I said making love to you was an honour. Please, let me pleasure you. Let me help you forget, at least for a time,” he murmured in her ear as he slipped his hand to the back of her neck to pull her in for a kiss. And oh, Maker, what a kiss.

The man was an exquisite kisser, gentle and demanding at the same time, sucking and teasing her lips with his own while his tongue sought hers. He tasted of spiced wine, but the kiss intoxicated her far more than mere liquor ever could. A moan escaped her throat and he pushed her down with his body onto the soft feather mattress as his hand slid from her neck to her shoulder and then down her chest.

He squeezed her breast gently, then rubbed his thumb over her nipple, making it stiffen under his touch. She arched her back, encouraging him, and he caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it between them, pinching gently, making her whimper with pleasure. His mouth moved along her jaw, her neck, her throat, nipping gently with his teeth, leaving a trail of burning kisses as he moved. He shifted the position of his body so he could get better access to hers and moved his mouth to a nipple, which he sucked gently, flicking it with his tongue, while his other hand pinched and rolled the other nipple.

Rowan let go and just gave in to the pleasure, moaning, sighing, blissfully thinking of nothing but Teagan's skilful, sensual onslaught. She was throbbing with pleasure, her need and desire growing with every delightful move the man made on her body. Now he was sucking her nipple harder, nipping a bit with his teeth, oh, Maker, he was good, so good, and she told him so, panting, murmuring of pleasure and arousal.

His hand slipped to the apex between her thighs and she opened her legs wider for him as his fingers slid between the slick folds of her flesh. He easily found the pearl of flesh that was the core of her arousal. With delightful slowness, he dragged his fingertip in circles around it, making her whimper, her hips starting to grind as her pleasure built. He shifted his hand so that his thumb was where his fingertip had been, and slid two fingers inside her, caressing her, making love to her with his hand. She was making all kinds of noise now, grunting, whimpering, moaning the nonsense words of sexual arousal, her breath catching as her pleasure gathered until it burst like a heavy rain cloud, drenching her in ecstasy.

Teagan didn't even wait for her to fully recover before moving down the bed so he could put his mouth on her wet, throbbing flesh.

“Oh, Maker, Teagan, yes,” she gasped as his marvellous mouth teased and sucked, his tongue pressing her still-throbbing pearl. He caressed her with the fingers he still had inside her and she grasped his hair with her fingers, murmuring his name, praising the Maker, begging for more, her hips moving against his face as she urged him on. Teagan obliged her, his mouth working her flesh until she came again, crying out as she did. He kept going until she lost count of how many times she reached a climax, some coming so quickly she couldn't breathe, abandoning all thought of anything and everything but the exquisite, wicked pleasure he was giving her.

Eventually, he raised his head and asked, his voice husky with passion. “Are you ready to move on? Or I can continue... whatever you wish.” He still had two fingers inside her, and even as he spoke to her, he was curling them against her, pressing on a most sensitive spot inside of her.

“Fuck me, Teagan,” she growled. “Fuck me hard.” He didn't need to be told twice, and in a moment his hips were cradled between her thighs. She cried out with pleasure as he thrust his cock into her. She was so incredibly aroused she came in only a few strokes, arching her back, her hands clutching him in wild, almost desperate passion.

His control and endurance were as remarkable as the rest of his skills as a lover. They changed positions when she rolled, flipping them both over and straddling his hips, making him laugh and comment on her strength and determination. She rocked her hips against him, a half smile on her face, the two of them looking into each others eyes in the firelight as she rode him. At least, they were until Teagan moved his hand from her hip to the pearl between her legs and started to rub her there as she moved. At that point she closed her eyes and threw her head back, crying out over and over as the bliss overtook her.

Eventually, she grew tired of that, and got herself on all fours, wiggling her backside at him and inviting him to take her from behind. When he did, she cried out his name with his first thrust and bucked against him. Teagan responded to her rhythm with hard, deep thrusts that made her scream, in between gasping for breath, and clutching at the bedclothes with her hands. When he reached his hand around to press his fingers to that pearl of flesh he so loved to touch, it was her undoing, and this time, she pulled him over the edge of ecstasy with her.

They collapsed on the bed, both panting. Rowan had been told once that Grey Wardens were renowned for their sexual endurance, but Teagan could stand with the best of them. It seemed that his reputation as a lover was well deserved. He was apparently known in some circles as The Bannhammer. He certainly lived up to that nickname.

They lay together on the bed, she on her stomach, he on his side nestled up beside her, hand resting on her arse.

“That,” she said when her breathing had returned to normal, “was truly impressive. Maker's breath.”

He chuckled. “And did it help? Do you feel better?”

“Oh, I do, though for how long remains to be seen. And I'll have something pleasant to remember on our long, forced march to Denerim. Thank you, Teagan. It was most kind of you to assist me so ably in my hour of need.”

“It was certainly my pleasure, my lady. You are magnificent, Rowan Cousland. It has been my honour to lie with you.”

She yawned, and pulled the covers up over them, turning onto her side so her bottom was pressed up against his groin, her back to his chest, like spoons in a drawer. “I finally feel like I may be able to get at least a few hours of sleep. Will you stay with me?”

“I'll stay until you fall asleep, if you like, but then I think I should go. My leaving your room early in the morning would, I suspect, be a great distraction for many. Although, as noisy as we were...”

“Ha. You mean as noisy as I was. But these are good, thick stone walls, and sturdy wooden doors. In my experience, that will dampen a great deal of noise, so I wouldn't worry too much about that.”

“Perhaps after the war is ended, if we both yet live, we might arrange to see each other again...”

“Perhaps,” she murmured drowsily. “Sleep now. Thank you, again.”

“You are more than welcome, my lady.”

 


End file.
